Wintry Wounds
by eluvent
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! While hunting a chupacabra in the middle of the forest, Dean is injured and a snowstorm is fast approaching. Hurt!Sick!Dean and Angst!Sam. Set sometime in season 7. Reviews are much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Much to the disappointment of my ego, I don't own Supernatural or the Winchesters.**

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"What'll it be?" A middle-aged woman shifted her stance in front of their table, a smile crinkling in the corner of her eyes. "I'll have the eggs, easy over with a side of hash." Sam said, flashing a quick smile to the waitress and handing over his menu. Dean pushed his menu toward the end of the table and simply said, "Coffee, please." Sam shot him a look consisting of shock and concern, and the waitress hurried off somewhere else. "You okay?" Sam asked, a hint of worry leaking through his words. Dean looked up from the newspaper, a surprised look on his face. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" It's not like he expected Dean to come out and say whatever was wrong. Of course not, that was against his nature. But this feeling about his brother had been nagging Sam for the past couple of days. He'd been distant, like his mind wasn't on what was in front of him. Whatever it was, Sam only hoped it wasn't too serious.

"You just…" He sighed. "Nevermind." Dean shrugged and went back to reading the newspaper.

An hour later, they were walking in the middle of a forest on the outskirts of town, snow falling around them heavily as they tracked a chupacabra. "Why aren't we hunting this thing later? It looks like a snowstorm is headed our way." Dean glanced back at Sam tiredly as he brought up the possibility of a storm for the hundredth time. He tightened his arms around his chest as a particularly strong gust of wind blew through the trees, piercing through the brothers' thick clothing and striking them to the bone. "Stop whining, Sam. We'll be done by lunch."

With layers of snow coming down faster as time went by, the boys found it harder to follow the chupacabra's trail. A couple of times they had to change direction when they realized there had been no tracks lately, resulting in a few swear words from Dean and an eyeroll from Sam. Another hour and a half passed, and the silence between the two was unnatural. Usually, Dean would either be complaining about the cold or snapping at Sam for complaining about the cold. Still, they carried on until they reached the center of a large clearing. They could hardly see ten feet in front of them, the snow creating a translucent barrier for their sight.

They stopped dead in their tracks when they heard a low growl behind them, barely audible over the howling wind. Turning around slowly, Sam could just make out a large, dark form about five yards in front of them and glanced over to see his brother fumbling with the flare gun. The beast was quickly shortening the distance between them. "Dammit, Dean." He hissed. They only had one flare gun, after the other had been used unexpectedly on a wendigo earlier that week.

' _Shit'_ was all Dean could think as he struggled to flip the safety off of the flare gun. His hands were long since numb with the body-aching cold, and just didn't want to cooperate. At last the safety clicked off, and he was just about to shoot the damn thing when it leapt at him, one of its massive paws raking through his layers of clothing and ripping through flesh. A white-hot pain ran through his left side and he landed on his back in the snow, the monster rising up beside him for a second attack.

The whole scene happened so fast that Sam barely had time to think. He saw the flare gun laying in the snow and dove for it, then looked up just as the chupacabra was air-bound and fired. A sharp grunt came from Dean as the beast landed on him, and Sam scrambled up to help get it off. He dug his feet into the snow and pushed against the still-warm body of the chupacabra, Dean's hands braced against its chest to vainly relieve some of the pressure. After a moment of struggle, Sam managed to roll it off onto the snow next to Dean, who took a deep breath as the weight on his chest-and more painfully, his side-was suddenly released.

Dean closed his eyes and had to clench his jaw to keep from groaning in pain. Sam, not yet aware of his injury, held out a hand and he clutched it tightly as he was helped up into a standing position. A wave of pain washed over Dean and he lowered his head, letting out a long breath. It was then that Sam saw the three long tears in the clothing on his brother's side, and along with it was blood that had already begun seeping through the outer layer. "Oh God, it got you." Dean shook his head futilely. "Not that bad. Let's just get the hell out of here." He began to take a step forward, but the blinding pain made him stumble. Luckily, Sam was within arms' length and managed to grab him before he hit the ground.

"Look, the car's a couple miles away and the weather's getting worse by the second. I saw a barn just a few minutes back. You think you can make it?" He moved so his arm was holding Dean up by his waist. "Yeah, I can make it." He replied as if it was a stupid question and muttered something about Sam being a 'mother hen'' under his breath. It wasn't until the two of them started on their way back that Dean realized just how much he had overestimated his strength. The crook of his arm was hooked around his brother's neck, keeping him from sliding out of Sam's hold.

As the minutes ticked by achingly slow, Sam noticed that Dean was leaning against him more and more. Their pace had slowed and he had gotten so cold that he couldn't remember what warmth even felt like. He had tried to ignore Dean's gasps of pain when he was jostled too much or the fact that he was beginning to stumble, but his concern was only heightened at the thought of how much Dean was hiding. Just a moment later, the barn came into view. Relief hit him and he quickened his pace, much to the distress of his brother, who let out a quiet groan at the movement. Sam had Dean lean against the side of the dilapidating building while he kicked the frozen lock off and wrenched open the doors. Then he ushered him inside, closed the doors behind them, and slowly lowered Dean so he was resting against a bale of hay.

"Alright, I know you're freezing but I gotta take a look at the wound." Dean didn't respond, just feebly began attempting to get his jacket off. Sam crouched down in front of him and helped him remove his snow-soaked thick jacket, flannel, and t-shirt, revealing a bloody mess around his ribs. He thought he caught a glimpse of bone through the crimson catastrophe that was his brother's side, but couldn't be sure. Despite the odds, Sam told himself things would be fine. They had to be, because they always were. He sighed. That was the biggest lie he had told himself yet.

He stood up and thought for a moment. He had left the duffel bag containing the first-aid kit in the snow by the chupacabra, and would get there a lot faster without his brother's weight. He folded up Dean's flannel and pressed it to his side, eliciting a pained intake of breath from him. With a short nod, Dean's hand moved up to take the place of his and Sam stood up. Glancing around the worn-down barn they were in, he found a moth-eaten horse blanket in one corner and laid it over Dean, who was beginning to shiver. Sam hoped it was because of the cold and that he wasn't going into shock. He crouched in front of his brother, who looked back at him through exhausted eyes.

"I'm gonna go get the med kit. I'll just be a minute. Just...Hold on, okay?" Dean simply blinked slowly, but that was enough for Sam to know that it was okay. He heaved open the doors again, and, giving one last look back to Dean, trekked back into the frigid winds.

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 _Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me whether or not it was crap. But, if it is, tell me why so I can apply. This is just the first chapter, so I'll be posting the next chapter within a few days if I don't get too many unhappy readers._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Supernatural. Let's not talk about it.**

 _"_ _I'm gonna go get the med kit. I'll just be a minute. Just...Hold on, okay?" Dean simply blinked slowly, but that was enough for Sam to know that it was okay. He heaved open the doors again, and, giving one last look back to Dean, trekked back into the frigid winds._

With the rising winds, it took Sam almost ten minutes to reach the clearing. He felt the need to run, but after falling on his face on his first attempt to do so, he settled with trudging at full speed. He swore when he realized he had ended up at a different clearing, due to the significant lack of chupacabra corpses. He began to turn around and try another direction when he froze, his eyes slowly moving back to a small, dark lump half-hidden under snow. The duffel. He rushed to the bag, kneeling before it panickedly. Even though he already knew it was theirs, he had hoped, with some tiny chance, that it wasn't and that he was in the wrong place. Nevertheless, the odds were not in his favor, as usual. He stood up, hoisting the bag on his shoulder and looking carefully at the line of trees surrounding him. The chupacabra was alive. He felt his stomach plummet. And Dean was alone.

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Dean adjusted his position uncomfortably, reapplying lost pressure to his wound. Every few minutes he would feel consciousness start to slip away and he'd have to snap himself back. He didn't know how long Sam would be, and if he succumbed to sleep, it might be the end of him. He heard a rustling outside the barn doors and looked over in confusion. Surely Sam couldn't be back, already...Right? "Sammy?" He called uncertainly. He pushed himself up straighter as a banging started on the door, followed shortly by a splitting crack, splinters and chunks of rotting wood flying everywhere as a heaving beast was suddenly before him. "Not Sammy." He muttered, eyes wide as he attempted to stand. Pushing his back to the bale of hay, he managed to stagger up so he was standing, gritting his teeth in pain. The flannel, forgotten in the midst of the unforeseen arrival of a certain beast, hit the ground with a sickly plop beside the blanket, blood oozing from the pores of the fabric.

He raised his hands in front of him defensively, taking a small step backward. The chupacabra, which did not look as dead as he remembered, countered his movement by stepping forward. "I know we got off to a rough start, but…" He began with a nervous smile, and was rewarded with a low growl from the monster. "Oh. Okay." He swallowed hard, looking around desperately for anything that even _remotely_ looked like it could be used as a weapon. Nothing. The damn barn was completely empty except for a few bales of hay and a rusty wheelbarrow. He looked back to the chupacabra. Why wasn't it attacking him? All it was doing was staring at him intently. He inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, trying to keep himself from passing out. He took another step back and it let out a gruff snort, taking another step forward.

A million thoughts raced through Dean's mind as he waited awkwardly in the standoff. Should he run? _Could_ he run? He was already swaying, and, unless he had missed a spontaneous miracle of birth, there weren't actually two beasts standing in front of him. Another thought crossed his mind. Why wasn't it dead? He had seen Sam hit the thing square in the chest. It should be dead. When it moved forward again, he hastily tried to step back and stumbled, falling backward onto the icy hay-strewn floor, darkness creeping in on the edges of his vision. It was then that Sam decided to arrive, and Dean wouldn't have even noticed if the creature hadn't suddenly spun around and barreled past Sam, back into the confines of the storm.

Sam, very obviously bewildered, stepped aside just in time to avoid being trampled. After a moment of standing there in amazement, he snapped out of his trance and rushed to his brother's side. "Dean?" He simply let out a breathless groan, only half-conscious. Sam dropped the bag from his shoulder and pulled out the first-aid kit. All he knew was that his priority was making sure Dean would make it through the storm, however strange the instance with the beast had been. He sifted through the contents of the box before pulling out a few wads of gauze, a clean-ish hand towel, tape, and a roll of bandages. "Alright. Are you with me, Dean?" There was no answer. He bit his lip nervously, then moved Dean into somewhat of a sitting position, propped in the corner of a bale of hay and the barn wall.

Luckily, but not really, the cold had helped slow the bleeding down so it was sluggishly pumping blood down his abdomen. He pulled the towel from his pile of supplies and managed to carefully wipe most off the blood away. Now that the actual injury was more defined, he could see that it was three deep gashes across his ribs, and that, yes, bone was distinctly visible. Not wasting any more time, he pressed a mass of gauze to the wound without any protest from its bearer. He bit a few pieces of tape off with his teeth and lined them up with the edges of gauze, then proceeded to take the roll of bandages and wrap around Dean's chest a few times for good measure. He paused for a moment, watching the somewhat steady rise and fall of his brother's chest, then reached over and pulled the forgotten blanket back over his shivering form.

For almost two hours, according to his watch, Sam just sat back and kept an eye on Dean, pondering the strange chupacabra occurrence. Through the newfound gaping hole in the side of the barn, he could see the storm beginning to back down. Soon, they would be able to walk back. Well…He looked back to the unconscious body tucked in a corner. He might have to carry him out of here if he didn't wake up soon, and he didn't want to force him awake.

As if reading his thoughts, Dean's eyes fluttered open and a breathless groan wheezed out of him as his hand raised toward the source of pain. Sam immediately crawled over in front of him. "Dean? Dean, how are you feeling?" His breath hitched when he shifted his position, and after a moment, responded with pain evident in his voice, "Feel like I got sliced and diced." He gave a weird look, then added, "Did you see the zombie chupacabra?" Sam gave a short laugh, just glad his brother was talking. "Yeah...We'll have to see what the hell that was all about once we get out of here." He scanned the diminishing storm outside. "We might be able to make it to the car, now. Are you...Up for that?" Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm in top-notch condition, Sammy." After receiving a doubtful look, he continued, "I'll be fine. Just uh...Can I have my clothes back?"

"Oh, of course, yeah." Sam stood and picked up the two jackets and t-shirt that were draped over a hay bale. They were still slightly damp, but would have to do. He turned back to Dean and helped him somewhat stand, the blanket left in a heap on the floor for the time being. With a little bit of a struggle and a few gasps of pain, Sam managed to get the two outer layers on Dean, buttoning up the flannel and zipping the jacket. He had decided last minute it wasn't worth the pain it would take to get the t-shirt on him. He clenched his jaw and glanced back outside, then shook off his feelings of uneasiness. He bagged the blanket, just in case, hefted the duffel onto his shoulder, then turned back to Dean. "You ready?" He nodded, and Sam resumed his place next to him with his arm wrapped around his waist. As if to condone their attempt at survival, the winds died down even further as they stepped out. "This is gonna be…" Dean's breath caught in his throat as they shifted around a tree. "Loads of fun." He muttered, and the two of them carried on with their trek.

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 _Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, I don't own Supernatural. Please, save your shocked expressions for the movie.**

 _As if to condone their attempt at survival, the winds died down even further as they stepped out._ _"_ _This is gonna be…" Dean's breath caught in his throat as they shifted around a tree. "Loads of fun." He muttered, and the two of them carried on with their trek._

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The trip back to the car consisted of colorful language from Dean and many painful adjustments to their uncomfortable transportation system. Sam kept a wary eye out for the immortal chupacabra, while Dean focused solely on staying awake. Not that an agonizing two to three hour hike in the freezing snow wasn't interesting, but the pain in his side and the dizziness he was feeling sure as hell made it _somewhat_ difficult to retain consciousness. The trip was, for once, lacking in the 'bad luck' department.

By the time the car came into sight, Sam was dead tired and holding almost all of Dean's weight. The familiar gleam of the Impala in the golden light of sunset brought an instant feeling of relief. Dean simply gave a grunt, which could be loosely translated to, 'It's about damn time.' After carefully packing him into the passenger seat, Sam chucked the duffel in the backseat and sped off toward the motel.

A few minutes into driving, Dean shifted to face him and said quietly, slurring his words just a bit, "I've been here…Before." Sam furrowed his brow and glanced over, waiting for elaboration. It didn't come. "What do you mean?" Dean sighed, but continued nevertheless. "Was here with Dad." He paused for a moment, shifted again, and left a hand resting lightly on his wound. "Long time 'go."

"Dean, what are you saying?" Dean closed his eyes in annoyance. "We were...hunting a chupacabra...There." After that statement, he turned away and leaned his head against the window in finality, leaving Sam to only wonder what the hell he was talking about.

They reached the motel just as dusk was settling in. Despite the worn-down exterior of the motel, it was one of the nicer places they've stayed, and the sight was surely welcomed at that moment. Four minutes later and Dean was lying on his bed with his jackets taken off and Sam was peeling off the blood-soaked gauze, after tearing away the wrap. It looked as if the wound had mostly stopped bleeding, but not for good reasons. Blood loss was definitely an issue here, and, basing off of Dean's sudden fever, so was infection.

He slapped on his poker face for his brother's sake, even though he was occupied with watching the back of his eyelids. Sam soaked a towelette in alcohol and wiped away the sticky semi-dried blood that had matted on Dean's skin, aware of his every sudden breath when he pressed just a bit too hard. Now came the actual painful part. It looked like all three of the long slashes needed stitches. Fan-friggin'-tastic. Blinking away weariness, he dug the needle out and, without much hesitation, began stitching the skin together.

It took a long time, and, according to Dean's tensed muscles and tight expression, it hurt like a bitch. But, he worked as quickly, carefully, and gently as he could. After tying off the final stitch, he taped down another wad of gauze and wrapped his chest in bandages to help hold it in place. "Alright, stay awake for just a minute, okay?" Sam said, receiving a groan in return. He dug around in one of their bags, pulled out a nearly-empty bottle of antibiotics, and gave a few to Dean with a glass of water. "Go to sleep, now. You look like shit." He said after reluctantly swallowing the pills, then slipped his eyes closed. Sam snorted, but complied anyway, kicking his boots off, switching off the lamp, and collapsing on the bed. Sleep came immediately.

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When Dean woke, late morning light filtered through a split in the heavy curtains and created a small crack of visibility in the dark motel room. The space smelled of blood and...Other scents that definitely weren't theirs and he definitely didn't want to think about. Another thing he noticed was the heat. Why the hell was it so hot? He kicked off the itchy polyester quilt, and was immediately reminded of his wounds. That's right. For a moment, he laid very still, waiting for the wave of pain to pass and breathing very, _very_ carefully. When it had subsided to its preceding dull throbbing, he looked over to Sam, who was still catching up on some obviously-needed rest.

He ran through the previous day's events in his head, all the way up to, oh yes, the whole Dawn of the Dead fiasco with the chupacabra that just didn't want to stay dead. Now all they needed was to hide out in a mall and the punchline would set itself up. But, what Dean had failed to express to Sam that night was what he meant with his slightly unclear words. He now realized that he _may_ have not been completely coherent at that particular time. His memory flicked back to more than ten years ago-while Sam was at Stanford-a hunt he and Dad had taken. Same town, same forest, and, though he really hoped wasn't but was almost sure was, same chupacabra. Of course they had toasted the sucker after popping it with a flare or two-that was protocol. But, now that he thought about it, they hadn't seen it burn to a crisp.

Dean had noticed some burn marks on the beast, but had dismissed it as nothing. Damn. Something was going on here with this thing, and he sincerely hoped it wasn't widespread.

Sam let out a sleepy moan as he sat up, startling Dean out of his thoughts. The movement, as subtle as it was, brought nausea rising up. Huh. Maybe all the thinking about burning corpses wasn't doing too well by his bowels. He tried steadying his breathing, not exactly feeling up to vomiting right then. "Hey, you good?" Sam stood up and crouched beside his bed. Dean swatted him away. "'M just peachy." He sat up achingly slowly, gritting his teeth to keep his gasping under control as Sam, despite his protests, assisted in leaning him back against the headboard. Once settled, he sucked in a deep breath of air and swallowed back some rising bile. Sam made a gesture to bring the wastebasket over, but Dean shook his head. He wasn't going to let himself throw up. Nope.

"So, about this chupacabra that couldn't. Th-" He began, but Sam interrupted him, a look of disbelief plastered on his face. "Can you not just take care of yourself for half a second?" Dean opened his mouth to respond but was cut off again. "The case can wait. Let's just wait until you're up to full speed again, alright?" A moment of silence passed over his last remark, and then Dean quietly raised his hand. Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, what? What is it?" His hand dropped with a quick grin, and Dean continued, "I was just going to say maybe we should research this a bit. I think Dad and I hunted the same chupacabra while you were at Stanford." Sam gave a look of confusion. "You left without getting it?" Dean shook his head. "No, we got it. We gave it double the flare gun love _and_ burned the mother. But...It's like it can't be killed by fire. Not like the usuals." Sam nodded, trying to piece together this new information. "I guess...Maybe...Well…" He trailed off, clearly sifting through ideas. "What?" Dean prodded. "Maybe it has a protection spell? I don't know. I've never heard of it, but it sounds possible. I can check out local lore at the library, but...No..."

"Come on. Complete sentences, dude."

"I don't want to leave you alone, Dean."

"I'll be okay."

"Your wound's infected."

"I feel fine. Well, considering." Sam stood up, visibly fed up, so he quickly added, "Look, if I feel even a tiny bit worse, I'll call you." His brother was shaking his head. "No, you won't. That's the problem." He sighed. "I'm going to call you every half hour." Sam said, collecting his things. "Just...answer. Okay?" He left the laptop on Dean's bed. "If you feel like helping out…"

After a few more eyerolls and making sure Dean had weapons, medicine, and all of the phones within reach, Sam headed out and hesitantly locked the door behind him.

As soon as Sam had left the room, Dean slumped back down. Feigning good health was tiring. Honestly, it was hot as hell in there, he felt like he could vomit with too much physical exertion, and his side throbbed seemingly in time with his heart. But, he knew he would be fine-more or less. A few hours without his own personal bedside service wouldn't be the end of him. It wasn't a matter of pride. Well, not entirely. He just didn't see any reason to worry Sam when there wasn't much else he could do-Short of a hospital, anyway, and he sure as hell wasn't going to go _that_ route.

He closed his eyes for a moment. This was going to be a long couple of hours.

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 _Thanks again for reading! Don't forget to leave a review, please! Hopefully the wait for the next chapter won't be as long as it was for this one._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Alright, fine. I don't** ** _actually_** **own Supernatural.**

 _He closed his eyes for a moment. This was going to be a long couple of hours._

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A sudden, loud ringing abruptly woke Dean, and he let out a groan as nausea quickly returned. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Oops. He slid his cell off the side table to answer it and slowly headed toward the bathroom for a much-needed shower. By the time he put the phone to his ear, Sam had a worried tint to his words. "Dude, settle. You just woke me, that's all." Halfway into shuffling to the bathroom, he gave up and slumped against the wall. Sam was still talking, and when he detected a break, he just said, "Look, I'm still good. Talk to you in an hour." And hung up.

He picked at the bandages wrapped around his bare chest dazedly. His gaze slowly traveled up the wall in front of him until they reached the thermostat. He took a step forward to change it, then stopped himself. It said it was sixty-five degrees in the room, and he was sweating bullets. Maybe he was worse than...He shrugged away his thoughts and turned it down to sixty, the lowest it could go, and continued into the bathroom.

Before he could even turn on the shower, the nausea suddenly became too much to bear and he collapsed next to the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach in painful spasms. Damn, this sucked. He rested his head on his arm, his breathing ragged and sounding a lot like wheezing as his body calmed. Then he forced himself to stand up, albeit slowly, clutching at the towel rack for support. He decided against the shower, flushed, brushed his teeth half-heartedly, and returned to the room. Maybe looking into Mr. Death Reject would do him some good. Plopping on the bed, he leaned back against the headboard and pulled the PC into his lap, grimacing at the sudden bright light as it turned on.

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When Sam pulled into the library, his uneasiness about the whole leaving-Dean-alone thing had taken him over. He forced himself to work through it, though, his anxiousness providing an incentive to work faster.

An hour in, he stayed true to his word and called Dean. After the first three rings, panic set in, but was quickly washed away when the other line answered. "Dean?" There was silence on the other end. "Is everything okay?" A moment passed. "Dammit, Dean. What's going on?" There was the muffled sound of movement on the other end, and then a rough voice answered, "Dude, settle. You just woke me, that's all." Sam exhaled, only relieved slightly. An hour wasn't much time. "You fell asleep already?"

"Mhm."

"Well, I found a book on the local lore. It has a little bit about this one urban legend from the early 20th century for this area." He heard a sigh on the other end, and then Dean said, "Look, I'm still good. Talk to you in an hour." The call clicked.

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Through the hours that Sam spent in the library, he kept his word and continued calling Dean every hour. He also found, surprisingly, a lot about what they were going up against. And for once, the remedy wasn't too complicated. At around three in the afternoon, he cleaned up the library table in the far corner that he'd claimed for himself, stopped by a diner to pick up lunch for the both of them, and headed back to the motel.

When he finally got back, Dean was sitting back against the headboard with his eyes closed and the television quietly playing a Dr. Sexy, MD rerun. He opened his eyes and looked over when the door closed, then reverted his attention back to the TV. Sam immediately felt the burst of cold air from the room's AC vents, then noted that Dean was probably feeling like a furnace right about now."Got you lunch." He held up the brown paper bag from the diner, containing his salad, and chicken and rice soup for Dean, who simply groaned in dread. Eating was not going to be pleasant.

Anyway, Sam sat at the cheap-looking dining table, eating his salad while explaining everything he'd found out about the chupacabra. There was a "ravenous beast" in the area during the 1950's, and supposedly some witch had loved _Fur and Grr_ just a bit too much and had tied its life force to some tree. "I couldn't find out which tree, though." Sam admitted at the end. Dean pulled his attention from the probably-delicious-but-wildly-unappetizing soup and responded, "Oh, yeah." He leaned over to place the styrofoam container on the nightstand, groaning under his breath. "I was reading something about this one tree somewhere around the middle of the forest, like where we were yesterday. People stay away from it, because the deaths have all been pretty close to it."

Sam shook his head. "What makes them think it's that tree?"

"Well, I mean, people gotta tie it to something. The site had a picture, and it looks pretty different from the others. It's friggin' huge and twisted and stuff - Grandmother Willow style." Sam nodded. "Should be easy to find, then."

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Later that night, Sam packed up and, despite Dean's muttered curses, decided to leave him behind. "Alright, just let me change your bandages, first." He said, just before leaving. Dean begrudgingly agreed, and Sam kneeled beside the bed and pulled up the edge of his shirt. The bandage was dotted with dried blood, but seemed to have held up fairly well. Being mindful of his brother's comfort, he gently unwrapped the bandages and peeled off the gauze. The already unattractive gashes were made to look worse with the apparent inflammation. He winced in sympathy, lightly wiped away some pus with a towel, and re-wrapped everything. He then poured out a dose of antibiotics and practically force-fed them to Dean. Satisfied that he would be okay enough for a couple hours, Sam said his farewells and headed out.

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Sam arrived at the forest at around nine and parked as close to the trail as possible, in case he needed a quick escape. He was distressed to be reminded that his cell phone didn't have any signal out here, but, for sake of subconscious reassurance, he tucked it in his pocket. He packed the duffel as lightly as he could, bringing a gallon of gasoline, a few matchbooks, a lighter, a sawed-off, and a machete. Then he closed the trunk and set off into the forest.

He moved as quickly as possible, and an hour and a half later, found himself standing before a massive, gnarled tree. "Damn." He breathed, taking in the sight, and immediately began pouring gasoline over and around the tree. Of course he was gonna burn the most amazing tree he might've ever seen to the ground. Why the hell not? Just as Sam was pulling out a handful of matchbooks, he heard a rustle somewhere in the foliage beside him. He froze, then made a move for the rifle. Before he could get to it, however, a large weight came barrelling at him and he slammed into the ground.

The beast skidded to a halt beside him as he recuperated, very angry and very not dead. His gaze remaining on the threatening creature before him, his hand slid across the leaf-strewn forest floor, searching for a stray match. His fingers grazed against a matchbook and he quickly pulled it to his other hand as the thing began advancing on him. When the book was ablaze, he chucked it in the general direction of the tree and hoped for the best. Luck must've been on his side that night, because the flaming piece struck a gas-soaked tendril and sent the tree shooting up with fire.

Sam scrambled away from the tree and the creature, which was combusting before his very eyes. A hideous screech pierced through the near-silent night, marked only by the crackling inferno in front of him, as the once-immortal thing was sentenced to a pile of ashes. He made a mental note to tone down the excitement in his description of what had happened to Dean. He didn't want the guy to feel like he missed out, however morbid that sounded.

He stood up, brushing dirt off of himself as he picked up his things and started back to the car. Woohoo for hunting.

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Back at the motel, Dean didn't have much choice as to what to do. He was bored as hell, and the Dr. Phil marathon currently running on the TV set sure didn't aid in that department. Since Sam had left over three hours ago, he had already delightfully vomited, changed the channel two dozen times, and fallen asleep in numerous places around the room. In spite of his fever and - though he would never admit it - weakness, he was getting restless. It was agonizing and exhausting to move, but he just needed something to do.

He was sitting at the dining table with his head in his arms when Sam got back. Dean lifted his head to greet him when he plopped down across from him. Dean blinked, willing his eyes to focus. "You gank the thing?" He nodded. "Good." Sam sat up a little bit straighter, then said, "So I was thinking about why that chupacabra was just kinda staring at you yesterday." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think it recognized you."

"You mean from…"

"Yeah. From when you hunted it like, ten years ago."

"Huh. A chupacabra with nostalgia. Awesome."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dean."

After moving to their beds, watching 'America's Dumbest Criminals' for a bit, and making a few snide comments here and there, Sam fell asleep. Dean was left unable to, after taking too many naps throughout the day. He grimaced as he changed his position. His side still hurt like a bitch and there was still the matter of finding out if the chupacabra's witchy lover was still alive, but everything would be okay.

Because it always was.

And that was no lie.

xxxx

 _Say goodbye to Wintry Wounds, as this was the final chapter. Thank you SO much for reading and keeping with it, and don't forget to review! I hope you enjoyed it._


End file.
